


Breaking a Bad Habit

by Ayantiel



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Depression, Gen, Self-Harm, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:45:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayantiel/pseuds/Ayantiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows he shouldn't, but it's so hard to stop when it's the only thing that clears his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking a Bad Habit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2nd Cabin Crew Riot  
> so if it's a bit rushed, I apologise

Technically, he knows he shouldn't be thinking all this. That it's not true, not all of it at least. He should be looking on the bright side. He does what he's always wanted to do. He has Douglas, and Arthur and Carolyn. They care about him, he knows that.

And yet, the nagging voice in the back of his head never fails to point out how much of a disappointment he must be to them.

The worst days are when there is literally no reason to be sad about anything. The weather is perfect for flying, Douglas doesn't tease him too badly, Carolyn doesn't snap at him and Arthur brings him coffee and calls him 'Skip' and 'brilliant!'.

And still he wants to scream. He wants to tear at his hair, kick and punch the wall, do something, anything, to make the goddamn void in his heart go away. The void that whispers insults in every millisecond of silence.

_Worthless. Failure. Awkward. Stupid. Ugly. Freak._

He tries, he really does, to keep on going and smile. But as soon as he comes home, he'll hurry upstairs and collapse on his bed and silent tears will drop on his pillow. He can't scream here either of course. Too many students.

But god, he wants to. Instead he bites his nails to the point where his fingers bleed.

At first he doesn't even notice. He's lying there, absentmindedly biting at his skin, when he realises he's stopped crying. He's breathing calmly and for the first time in months, the void is quiet.

When he shows up at the airfield two days later, his fingers covered in plasters, he says he dropped a wardrobe on them on a moving job.

\---

The next time the void becomes too loud for him to bear, Martin realises he can't keep biting at his fingers. Not to mention that he's sharing a hotel room with Arthur. So he resists.

He barely gets any sleep that night.

That also won't do. He needs to get enough rest to be fit to fly after all, he reasons. So he sits down and contemplates exactly what helped him calm down that time. But no matter how he searched for other explanations; perhaps it reminded him of sucking his thumb or the nibbling itself was somehow comforting, he couldn't deny that it had been the ache and dull throbbing of his fingertips that had filled the void.

It wasn't perfect, Martin knew. But at least he would catch some sleep and be able to fly. Because without flying, he had absolutely nothing. He couldn't bring anything in his hand baggage, so he would have to go without a razor on flights. Instead he grew out his nails again, though with great effort.

The next flight that the void was too loud, Martin slipped into the bathroom of their hotel room and dug his nails into the skin of his thighs. He'd already decided that his arms were not an option; too visible on moving jobs. 

The relief was instant and like an adrenaline high. Sharp intakes of breath were muffled into shoulder. When he crawled back under the covers he tried not to think about how nauseous the blood made him feel. He slept deeply that night.

\---

What he hadn't accounted for was the new ammunition his newly developed vice had now given against himself. The burn of the scratches on his skin was nothing compared to the burn of his shame at the thought.

_Freak. Disgusting._

He couldn't stop though. Not when flying was on the line. But over time he needed more and more before his mind finally settled down with the pleasant hum of pain. His legs were aching and walking hurt when his thighs brushed against the fabric of his trousers. He welcomed it though. It was a good distraction from the perpetual sadness.

It was however also harder to hide. Douglas had been casting him odd looks and even Arthur had at some point asked if he was alright, because he was 'walking funny'.

He thought he was doing fairly well though. But then one day, when he once again had to share a room with Douglas, his first officer told him a story.

'Have I ever told you about my alcoholism, Martin?'

The sudden question caught Martin by surprise and he looked up from unpacking his overnight-bag.  
'No...? You didn't ever seem to want to talk about it.'

'Well, I should. And I think you should hear. Take a seat.'

Martin obeyed without a word in protest. His first officer was acting rather strange.

\---

What Douglas proceeded to tell him then Martin would remember till the end of his days. He described the end of his first marriage, how he had lost custody of his only child. His second marriage wasn't much better, but then he really couldn't have expected that go well when it was practically a rebound affair.

It was then that he'd started drinking more often. Reaching for the bottle when times got low and he just wanted to forget that he was sleeping alone. His job suffered and though he never was drunk on a flight, his mind wasn't as sharp when hungover and it was his smuggling that had cost him his job.

'But if it hadn't been the smuggling, it would have been the drinking later on.' Douglas confessed. 'It was out of control.'

'How did you manage to stop?' Martin asked breathlessly. Unconsciously his fingers traced the scar that he'd made that morning under the fabric of his trousers.

'Helena' Douglas answered and Martin winced at the combination of a smile and a grimace on Douglas' face.

'She thought I was terrific, as I'm sure I've told you. That was what got me through, her unwavering faith in me.'

'… Why are you telling me this?' Martin asked.

'Because I know how addicting self-deprecating thoughts can be, Martin. And I know how difficult it can be to break a bad habit on your own.'

'I....' but he couldn't squeeze another word past his lips. Douglas knew. He knew and he wasn't judging him or laughing or making fun of him. More importantly there was no pity in his eyes when he looked at him.

'I have faith in you, Martin.'

And finally, Martin was able to cry.


End file.
